


In The Heart Of Darkness

by zzoaozz



Series: Hearts In Darkness [2]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (1999)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:11:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zzoaozz/pseuds/zzoaozz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In The Heart of Darkness - The dead do not rest easily in Sleepy Hollow.  An evil spirit seeks vengeance on those who took everything from her: Ichabod, the Horseman, Katrina and Sleepy Hollow. Only the Hessian could possibly  drive this evil back to Hell, but is even he strong enough to prevail?  Katrina faces some hard truths and Ichabod faces his fears as the Horseman faces his most dangerous enemy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Heart Of Darkness

The thing that had once been the Lady Van Tassell stirred deep beneath the roots of the Tree of the Dead. The smell of brimstone and Hellfire that had filled her senses was gone replaced by damp earth and the rot of organic things. She curled her remaining hand into a fist and bared her sharp new teeth. She was free. The gates of Hell had opened for her and now they would pay, the Hessian, the bitch, the brat, and Crane, especially Ichabod Crane. She would see his soul suffer the same torments as hers if it took eternity. 

It was daylight above, she could feel it pressing down on her through the soil and the thick roots that cradled her corpse as gently as a lover. She could feel them all, the townspeople that had denied her everything she had worked so hard to win, the boy who was too far away for her to reach just yet, her precious stepdaughter, and together, protected by the haze of the grave, Crane and the raging, dark entity that was the Horseman. 

She laughed hysterically. What a joke on her poor, little Katrina. The boy she might have figured for fey, but the Hessian surprised her. She could hardly blame the boy for wanting to be with the ghost, the German was certainly well built and attractive in a dark, dangerous way, at least when his head was on. Oh, but how you had to watch for those teeth, she could still remember the tearing of her lips, the taste of her own blood. The laugh turned to a mad cackle. Maybe she would see just what the constable had that could capture the fancy of the dead soldier. The Horseman would serve her again, and this time she would show him just what a cruel witch she could be. The laugh turned to an animal snarl of fury. 

There would be Hell to pay for those who had betrayed her and taken what was rightfully hers. For now though, the hateful sunlight held her prisoner. She had no place in the daylight world of waking, but when night fell she would rise like their own nightmares but so much more real. Until then, she lay still and let her mind drift with the perfect peace of the damned. 

 

In the village of Sleepy Hollow, Katrina Van Tassell sat huddled on her old bed in her father's house. Her head rested on her knees. Her eyes ached from crying. She berated herself for not listening to Ichabod. She had wanted him back, but she had not wanted him dead. 

She had examined her motives and replayed her actions a thousand times in her head. She should never have used the love spell to capture Ichabod's interest in the first place. How many times had her mother warned her about that? He had seemed interested before that. She was certain of that, but was he interested in her romantically or just fascinated by what must have seemed like such strange behavior to him. 

She could see him standing by her horse looking up at her, his brown eyes wide and confused. She could hear his voice as if his shade were here in the room with her. "...You must have a bit of witch in you, Katrina...Because you have bewitched me." She wondered now if that was desire she had seen moving in his eyes or fear. She was fairly certain she was the first person he had ever been with. Had she taken advantage of his innocence, she wondered. 

She stood and walked to her small window. The sun shone brightly, but she was cold through and through. The Horseman had not killed him, he had Ichabod in his power but then had let him leave. She had found him in the ruins alone. Then when his grave was being opened, he had distracted the crowd while Ichabod tried to slip away. Those were not the actions of a murderous demon. He had not killed Ichabod, she had. 

Tears splashed from her sore eyes onto raw cheeks. She had been so wrong, so petty. The thing that hurt most was that it was too late to make it right, too late to take off her blindfold and see the truth that Ichabod had tried in vain to show her. 

A knock at her door made her jump. She wiped her face on her sleeve before undoing the latch. It was Eric Killian. His older brother, nephew, and sister-in-law had been killed by the Hessian under her stepmother's control. It was amazing how much he looked like his brother. They had the same thick, auburn hair, laughing blue eyes, and quick smile. 

His eyes were filled with sympathy now as he held out a covered basket. "Mom sent you some food. She knew you wouldn't be up to making anything. I'm sorry for what happened. If I can do anything for you, let me know." 

She recalled that he had not been present at the grave nor at the burial of the remains of Ichabod and the Horseman. He did not know the foul thing she had done. 

"Thank you. I think all I need now is someone to keep me company." 

He smiled gently at her. "Sit down and tell me all about it." Seeing her doubtful look, Eric promised, "On my honor, whatever you say will never go beyond this room." 

She believed him and she desperately needed a sympathetic ear. She began haltingly to tell the whole painful story from her mother's death to the makeshift service for Ichabod and the anonymous Hessian mercenary. 

Erik listened in silence to Katrina and when she was done laid his hand gently over hers. "You made mistakes, but you were doing what you felt was right. You are only human like the rest of us." 

She looked up at the young man in amazement. It sounded as if he really meant that. 

"Besides," Erik continued, "I don't believe in 'too late.' the chance may yet come to atone for your mistake. You just have to be ready when it does." 

"Now, dry those eyes and eat a little. You've had a terrible morning and you need some rest. If you would like, I'll stop by this evening and we'll talk about what needs to be done to untangle this wretched mess and put a smile back on that face." 

Katerina looked down at her hands folded on her lap. "I would like that, Erik." 

 

Ichabod started up from a fitful sleep still tangled in his dreams. He had no idea where he was. He was lying on his back, in a strange, silent place lit only by the flames of a small fireplace. Something heavy lay across his legs and chest pinning him down. Panic threatened to overwhelm him until his memory caught up to his imagination and he realized where he was and who it was that curled protectively around him. 

He turned his head to study his lover's profile. The dancing flames seemed to soften the harsh face. In sleep, he looked younger, almost vulnerable. It was hard to reconcile the passionate, loving creature beside him with the deadly ghost that had so struck horror into the citizens of Sleepy Hollow. 

He could not resist leaning in to brush a kiss across those sensuous lips. He drew back to find the Horseman was awake and looking at him with a mixture of pride, love, and wonder that made the mortal blush. He lowered his eyes taking in the powerful body stretched out beside him. Ichabod traced the well-defined muscles of the Hessian's stomach with slender fingers. Christiaan practically purred under the caress. 

Ichabod laughed. "I can't believe I was frightened of you, you big bear. I should have rubbed your belly instead of letting you chase me across half the country." 

The Horseman laughed easily. "That would probably have stopped me regardless of the Black Witch. I am glad I did not take your head. I rather like it where it is." He stroked Ichabod's smooth throat his mood changing from playful to serious without transition. "You know, No one has ever led me such a chase. You are not much of a fighter, but you are a survivor." 

The human blushed again and lowered his eyes. "I was just frightened. I ran like a coward." 

The Hessian caught his chin and forced him to meet his eyes. His voice was firm. "You fought me with a sickle, set a windmill on fire around me, knocked me off my horse, dragged me behind a carriage before turning it over on me, and wrestled an evil witch for a cursed skull. You returned my head not knowing if I would attack you then. You even survived being run through with my sword." 

He stroked the straight scar on Ichabod's breast with his calloused thumb. The blade had gone clean through leaving a slightly shorter scar on his back. It had missed the heart by no more than an inch, the cauterizing properties of the blade had kept him from bleeding to death. "I knew many a brave soldier in my life who would have turned and fled after what you saw, but you still fought for those you cared about and for what you believed in. I would call that courage." 

"Maybe, I don't know...So you were keeping track of all that, were you. I was too busy trying not to get killed. So what was the final score?" 

The Hessian smiled revealing his pointed teeth. He had done more of that since he had met the boy than in all his life before. "All I know is that I took home the prize, even if it was a year before I could collect." He loved it when Ichabod blushed. "Sleep now, Liebling. You are still flesh and blood." 

The Horseman kissed him tenderly and tucked the blanket a little closer around him. Soon the mortal was sleeping soundly again. He watched the boy in quiet awe. He was in love. The thought would take some getting used to. He did not know what force had dropped such a precious gift in his lap but he was bound and determined to give everything he had to keep it. 

He would need to acquire a real bed somewhere. The boy was unaccustomed to sleeping on such a hard surface. He had moved with great difficulty this morning, although more than half of that was their strenuous love-making. He smiled at the memory and the certain knowledge that it would happen again. The mortal would also need food and water, sunshine and clean clothing. He shook his head, it had been so long since he had led anything like a normal life, this was all so new. 

He rose and stared into the fire trying to shake off a sudden feeling of unease. 

 

Katrina actually felt a little better after talking to Erik. She made herself eat a little then walked through her home. It felt like a stranger to her now, hostile and cold where once it had offered love, hope, and peace. She wandered aimlessly from room to room. The caretakers had kept everything clean, but everywhere she looked her eyes found traces of their last days here. 

The book Ichabod had given her lay on the table in the drawing room, a scrap of ribbon marking her place. She lifted it in hands that seemed to belong to someone else and stepped to the fire. Turning it about in her hands as if she had never seen it before, she realized with an uncanny certainty that she would never finish it. She tossed it into the cheerful blaze and watched the pages curl and blacken before being drawn up the chimney. It was only ash. 

She climbed the stairs numbly to her father's room. The wide bed that he and...She...had shared was immaculately made. The room was in perfect order. Her father's dressing robe lay at the foot and Her gown nestled familiarly beside it. Nothing in this room would ever know of the betrayal that had taken place a year ago. Katrina's tears fell silently to the rug her mother had woven before she was born. 

Finally she climbed up to the attic room that had been given to Ichabod. There was very little of his presence left. He had taken nothing from Sleepy Hollow save a young woman he did not love, an orphaned boy who needed a friend, and an endless nightmare that woke him screaming in the night. 

Her diagram was still visible on the floor. No one had moved the bed back. A fat spider stalked across one of the symbols intent on a nearby cricket who sat in a ray of sunshine oblivious to the approaching predator. She watched nature's normal course play out before her and found herself weeping foolishly. She could not have said if her tears were for the cricket, for lost love, or only for her own wounded spirit. 

 

Ichabod opened his eyes reluctantly and stretched cataloging each new bruise and abused muscle. There had been so many sleepless nights, so many nightmares. It was disconcerting to have a pleasant dream. He had dreamed of his mother, but not of her death for the first time in years. 

In his dream, she was kneeling in her herb garden. She wore a dreamy smile as she gently plucked a leaf here, a bit of twig there. She hummed as she worked. He had asked her something then, whether or not it hurt the plants when she picked them. She had thought about his question for a while, staring through him. 

She had finally told him that yes, it did hurt a little, but the little pain now made them stronger later when they needed it most. She had held a leaf of cat mint up to him. He chewed it with relish. It was wonderfully sweet, but it stung a little too. 

She had nodded seriously then and told him that though she cut the mint, the wild things fed upon it, and the winter would soon leave nothing but its dried and lifeless skeleton; its roots were good and true. They ran deep into the earth and when the sun and rain returned in spring so would the plant. 

She had smiled sadly then, and whispered. "Do not give up on the things that are right and good when the winter seems as if it will never end. That which is real will survive, my Ichabod." 

That had been a perfect day. His father was gone to the deathbed of an older parishioner. The sun had sailed high in a deep blue sky. There were flowers everywhere and the birds seemed to be trying to outshout one another. He could still almost smell the air heavy with the fragrance of honeysuckle and thistle. 

When he did finally let the last cobwebs of the dream drift away, there was a wetness on his cheeks, but a lightness in his heart that had been absent for too long. He stretched again languidly. He was not alone. That knowledge thrilled him. He could not seem to wipe the ridiculous smile he knew he wore from his face. 

He heard the comforting sound of the Hessian's slow, measured breathing and tracked it to its source. Christiaan was sitting in front of the fire, staring into the strangely still flames lost in thought. Ichabod slipped out of bed silently and crept up behind him. He was mildly disappointed when the Horseman did not even flinch as warm arms wrapped around his chilly body from behind. 

"You should be careful sneaking up on monsters in nothing but your bare flesh. One might decide to bite off your pretty, little head." 

"I don't believe in monsters." The boy did not seem in the least worried by his menacing growl. Instead of cowering, he settled down boldly on the mercenary's lap, resting his head against one strong shoulder. "The only monsters I have ever seen were flesh and blood." 

Looking at the pale, young man leaning against his chest, The Hessian felt a stab of something like guilt. He was a creature of the Dark, a monster, no matter Ichabod's definition of the word. How could Heaven and Hell stand aside while he took this creature of warmth, sunshine, and exquisite beauty from his own world and hid him away in the unholy shadows of the grave. He, the mad Hessian, the soulless killer, had chosen his own wicked path in life. This endless purgatory was no more than what he deserved for his sins. This child had not even begun to live. He had been swept from whatever righteous course his life had been meant to take and perhaps damned for all time by a real monster in the name of love. 

He knew that Ichabod loved him for some unfathomable reason. It was there in his touch, in his wide eyes that hid nothing, in his kisses. He also knew that he was not capable of letting the lad go now, what he felt went beyond love, beyond possessiveness. 

He could not continue to exist without Ichabod, He knew that, but he was beginning to wonder if he could live with himself if he managed to destroy the very things he loved about the human. How could his innocence, his inquisitive nature, his honesty survive without sunlight, without other company, without a reason or purpose in life? He held the boy tight against his chest and looked over his head at the fire. The last thing that he wanted was for his love to sense his fear or the first stirrings of remorse. 

Oblivious to his inner battle, Ichabod snuggled in closer pushing his shirt aside and dropping a string of kisses along the line of his collarbone. Each kiss seemed to burn right through his cold, dead flesh igniting rivers of fire within him. He growled a warning before looking down at the boy. He had fully intended to push the human away, maybe even frighten him. Instead, he found himself trapped in the bottomless, brown eyes that looked back at him with perfect trust and obvious desire. 

Effortlessly, he surged to his feet sweeping the boy up into his arms in the same fluid movement. Those dark eyes refused to release his own even as he dropped his burden unceremoniously on the pallet of furs and skins. They shone in open invitation and he did not resist. He sat across the boy's hips just as he had the first time, he had taken him. Somehow though, their positions had changed. It was the Hessian who was afraid to confess his desire, he who trembled as soft hands caressed his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. 

Ichabod sensed his lover's shifting moods and wrapped his arms around the Hessian's neck pulling himself up into a sitting position, face to face. He buried his hands in the wild, dark hair and kissed the Horseman roughly. 

The mortal's kiss took his breath away. It was hard, demanding, and possessive. He caught Ichabod's face and responded without bothering to curb his own hunger. He could feel muscle and bone moving beneath his hands. It would be so easy to crush those delicate bones, so easy to break the frail creature in his arms. He tasted blood as his teeth scraped the boy's lip and froze. 

Ichabod felt him stiffen and looked up at his beloved. "What's wrong?" The Hessian pulled him into a crushing embrace nearly driving the air from his lungs. He felt his intestines tighten into a knot of fear. "Christiaan? What is it?" 

The ghost whispered into his hair. "I do not want to hurt you." 

Ichabod relaxed against him as suddenly as he had tensed. Relief coursed through him making him want to giggle. It was only because he knew that Christiaan was truly worried that he was able to keep his own expression somber. He had been so afraid that he had done something wrong, or that the Hessian had changed his mind about wanting him. He pushed the larger man back catching his face and forcing him to look down into his eyes. 

"You are going to hurt me, Christiaan, and I'm going to hurt you. Neither of us will mean it, but it will happen just the same. That's normal. The measure of love is in the ability to forgive each other and go past the pain. Each time we do, each ordeal we survive together, the bond between us will grow stronger. Don't be afraid; I'm not." 

The Hessian whispered his name softly, wonderingly. Ichabod pulled his head down with surprising strength. His sweet mouth possessed him demanding surrender. He did not resist as Ichabod pushed him back into the blankets and climbed on top of him. Silky warm hands undressed him, stopping often to stroke the curve of his neck, the corded muscles of his arms, the pale flesh of his stomach. He sighed and gave himself up to his mortal lover. It was a strange feeling, not being the aggressor. He was surprised to find, he was quite enjoying it.

Ichabod worshiped the cool, pale body below him with every inch of his own flesh. He let his mouth and hands explore everywhere, from the dark hollows beneath his high cheekbones to the rock hard muscles of his calves. He could not think for the pounding of his heart in his ears. 

All that mattered now was the powerful warrior below him who responded to his every touch. He knew what this man was capable of, the power, the deadly grace, the cunning. Yet, this soldier, this remorseless killer was helpless beneath his hands. Ichabod Crane had always been a fast learner, now he used all that the Hessian had taught him to bring both of them to the edge of ecstasy, then beyond. 

 

Katrina looked at the letter as if it might grow legs and leap at her. She knew the careful handwriting on the envelope as surely as she knew her own hand. Masbeth should not have known that they were in Sleepy Hollow, but somehow he had. The coach had brought the letter directly to her house. It was just a letter, yet she could not bring herself to open it. Her own guilt stayed her hand. 

The knocking at the front door made her jump. For a moment, she was confused, then she recalled Killian's promise to stop by and talk to her. She forced herself to go to the door and open it. Erik's concerned look drew yet another weary tear from her swollen eyes. 

"Katrina?" His voice was gently questioning. 

"I'm alright." She had to whisper, her throat was sore from her bouts of sobbing. 

Erik did not look convinced in the least. He caught her elbow and led her into the sitting room settling her comfortably on the couch before building up the fire. With the passing of the storms, the weather had turned cold. He glanced at the letter she still held stiffly in her trembling hand. 

"Who is that from, if you don't mind me asking?" 

"Masbeth. He knows." 

"Knows what? How could he know anything from New York City?" 

She did not answer. 

Erik returned to sit beside her and took the letter gently from her hand. He drew his pocket knife and slit the envelope. The letter was short, but he had never been much of a reader. He held it out to her gently. "What does he say?" 

She looked at him pleadingly, but he held his ground. "Read it." 

It was exactly what she had feared. Masbeth had a terrible dream in which Ichabod had been slain by the ghost of her stepmother. He had been unable to shake his sense of foreboding so he had written and asked that the letter be taken to Sleepy Hollow at all speed. He wanted to know that both she and Ichabod were well. She dropped the letter on the small table beside the couch and trembled. Wordlessly, Erik pulled her against his shoulder and held her, rocking gently as fresh tears scorched her face. 

He tried to find some words to comfort her, but before he could speak an alarm bell began to clang. Katrina jumped to feet looking like a panicked deer. His heart went out to her. He stood and took her hand carefully. "Let's go see what the problem is." She clung to his arm as they crossed to the door. 

The street outside was buzzing with people. They seemed angry and frightened. Killian grabbed the blacksmith's son by the arm and pulled him around. "What is it Joseph? What is going on." 

"Murder, that's what is going on. The coachman is dead, murdered on his way into the Hollow." 

Katrina swayed against him, Erik caught her before she fell and helped her remain upright. "Was it the Horseman?" Her voice trembled. 

Joseph thought about it for a moment. 'If it was, he ain't chopping heads no more; he's switched to hands instead." 

"Hands?" Katrina's eye's were wide, frightened. 

"Yeah, his hands were lopped off at the wrist, both of them. They're nowhere to be found. What do you make of that?" 

"I'm not sure, Joseph, but I aim to find out." Katrina squared her shoulders and stood straighter. "Tell me everything you know." 

 

Ichabod paced restlessly at the gate of the Hessian's lair. "our lair." He corrected himself. Saying the words aloud did not make them seem anymore real. He reviewed the events of the past few days, or had it been more than that. The Horseman had told him that time moved differently in the places where life and death intermingled. It seemed impossible to him that so much could change so quickly. 

Christiaan had gone above to get food and some other necessities for him. Ichabod felt guilty for putting him to so much trouble. He had not thought before of how much of a change it would be for his ghostly lover to accommodate a mortal. In truth, he had not considered the changes either of them would have to face to be together. 

He sighed and quickened his step a little, folding his arms behind his back. He could not, would not be a burden on his lover. He had to find a way to earn his keep, even in this strange twilight world he had inherited. None of it mattered when Christiaan was holding him, but alone and waiting, casual thoughts easily became self-doubt and points of worry. He felt as if he should be doing something, but he knew the Hessian was right. It was risky enough for him to go up alone. If anyone tracked them down this time, a clever trick would not be enough to save them. 

He nearly screamed as Daredevil burst up from the flames of the hearth with his ghostly lover firmly seated on his back. The Hessian dismounted quickly and pulled several bags from his saddle before Daredevil disappeared in a burst of heat and wind. The heavy bags landed on the floor in front of his feet without making a sound. The Hessian ran his fingers through his wild hair and stared back into the flames. 

Ichabod was beginning to be able to read the German's mood and he could tell that something was bothering him. "What's wrong, did someone see you?" 

"No." 

"Well then, what is it that has disturbed you." 

"The night smells of blood and I can feel danger around us like a snare." 

Ichabod felt his mouth go dry. "Da-danger? What kind of danger? What kind of trap?" 

The Hessian turned to look at him. His face softened as it always did when he looked at the lovely mortal. "I do not know, Little One. I could not tell where it came from. I only know that it will find us eventually, and we must not let it catch us off guard." 

"I can't imagine you ever being caught off guard." 

The Hessian laughed bitterly. "Oh, but I was, Leibling. I lost my head." 

Ichabod frowned at him. "I need to go take a look." 

"Not tonight, Ichabod." 

"But...." 

The Hessian closed the distance between them and pulled him into a crushing embrace. "Not tonight, If you must go, I will take you above and we will discover the threat together." 

Ichabod sighed and relaxed into the hug. 

"Promise me that you will not go out tonight, Ichabod." 

Ichabod looked up at his lover with a guilty look on his face. He had been contemplating just that. He thought to temporize, but the grey eyes shifted dangerously. "I promise I will not go up tonight without you." 

The Hessian relaxed and kissed him gently. 

 

The coachman was only the beginning. For the second time in as many years, death haunted the small village of Sleepy Hollow. The farrier was the next to die, a month to the day after the first killing. He had been found in his own yard with a loaded gun lying beside him. One month later, the clockmaker joined him. Again, the hands were missing. The town's request for help from New York received no reply. 

Katrina watched yet another family leaving town with all their goods piled on a wagon. Her father would have known what to do, but she had no heart to stop them. Erik had become a great comfort to her over the past weeks. He would show up with food and news and force her to accompany him as he tried to find a reason for the new killings. 

There were no clues to be found at the sites. No hoof prints were near the bodies, no sign of any weapon, and no animal tracks. Each victim was torn to shreds. Katrina wished desperately that she had listened more to Ichabod, learned more about his experimentations. She had a responsibility to the Hollow. With her father dead and both the Van Garrett's gone, she was Sleepy Hollow's wealthiest citizen. 

Setting her jaw firmly, she vowed to her father's spirit that she would get to the bottom of this mystery, no matter what. Determined, she gathered the items she would need for her spells. It was time whatever demon had decided to haunt her town found out that there were more forces at work than it realized. 

Her first stop would be a place where she had always been able to think clearly, the cottage. Gathering her books of magic she firmed her jaw and headed up the winding lane to the ruins of the small house. She would never call it the Archer Cottage. It had been her first home, she would not allow its memory to be tainted in her mind. 

The cottage ruins lay still in early afternoon light. In spite of her best intentions, Katrina shivered. Something seemed different about the place. She looked around trying to see what it was that seemed so wrong. It was the same as she remembered it, a few beams of the walls still standing, solid oak too strong to succumb as quickly as the pine and batten walls had, the chimney and hearth, still sound after so long, and the wiry scrub grass that had reclaimed the dirt floor. 

The grass was dying she noticed. It would be winter proper soon. The nights were swiftly edging toward bitter already. She frowned at the grass. It was not just fading away, it was wilted, blackened looking as if it were dying rapidly, as if it had been poisoned. Something else was wrong as well, the tree. 

There was a sapling growing up in the center of the dirt floor. There had been no tree there the night she had found Ichabod, there should not be one now. She knelt carefully beside the sapling and stared at it a long time before reaching out toward it. Time seemed to slow and an odd dreamlike state enveloped her. She could hear her heart thudding in her ears. She touched one pale leaf and nearly fell backwards. 

It was dark, twisted. It fairly radiated evil. It felt just like... 

"No!" She jumped to her feet and buried both hands in her hair smothering the scream that was threatening to tear itself from her chest. "The Tree of the Dead," she whispered as she backed slowly away never taking her eyes from the slender twig. 

The meadows around her grew uncannily silent. Frightened, she stopped, listening intently and trying desperately to gather her thoughts. She forced herself step up to the tree again. Her first impulse was to yank it up, burn it, end its evil before it could begin, but something stayed her hand. 

She let her mind drift as Ichabod had taught her and let her senses bring information to her. The grass was dying, the fields were still as if she were an intruder, and the tree held dominion as young as it was, as if it had always been here, as if it belonged here. It all meant something. They belonged together, Sleepy Hollow, the Tree of the Dead, Him. 

The Hessian was here. She was sure of it without doubt, every part of her being knew that she was right. He was here and he was watching, listening. The Tree was his grave marker, he was not destroyed; and that meant that there was a chance, a possibility that Ichabod was still here as well. 

Fear, hope, and pain flooded her heart. Gathering her skirts under her, she ran back to the village and to her home, her safe place. 

Eric found her there with her knees curled against her chest rocking back and forth on the floor and staring into the fire. Books of magic and science lay scattered about carelessly, along with pages of scribbled notes and diagrams. 

"What is it, what is wrong?" He caught Katrina by the shoulders and knelt in front of her claiming her attention. "Katrina?" 

"He's alive." 

"Who?" 

"The Hessian, maybe Ichabod, I was wrong. I have to tell him somehow that I was wrong." 

"What are you talking about?" 

She explained all that she had deduced. Eric did not look convinced, but neither did he dismiss her ideas out of hand. She felt a sudden rush of gratitude toward the stalwart young man. He was willing to listen and to try to help. That was far more than she had any right to ask of anyone. 

 

The Horseman listened as the white witch left. He could feel her turmoil. He had also caught the flavor of her guilt and sorrow through the limbs of the tree above. Perhaps Ichabod was correct and there was something redeemable in the child after all. Whether there was or not, he was certain the girl had picked up on his presence. She was smarter than she looked if nothing else. 

He drew a whetstone across his blade in a slow even stroke. It was more out of habit than any real need. From the moment the dark blade had bit into its master's neck it had been changed. It would never need sharpening again. 

He would need to keep an eye on her, but there was something far more dangerous out there. He had managed to keep Ichabod far from it, but it was closing in on them, drawing nearer with each passing night. Ichabod was growing tenser as well, he was beginning to suspect his lover of deliberately trying to shelter him. 

The boy was sleeping now. He was ethereal in repose. His pale skin shone in the firelight. His dark lashes rested lightly against his cheeks. A few tangled curls tumbled over his forehead. The Hessian felt another pang of guilt. 

"He chose me." He whispered the words softly hearing the gathering night wind pick them up and moan them across the empty fields. The words had become his mantra, his strength. This fragile thing had torn down his walls, breached his defenses, then offered himself up freely in their place. There was no doubt in his mind who was stronger, more courageous. 

Making up his mind, he knelt beside the sleeping mortal and lightly brushed his cheek. "Ichabod." 

The dark lashes fluttered upward revealing bottomless brown eyes that were still foggy from sleep. "Christiaan?" 

"Shh, Little One, everything is alright. Your witch was just above." 

"Katrina?" 

"Yes, she is upset, frightened." 

"The danger you sensed?" 

"I think, yes." The dead soldier squared his shoulders and took a deep breath gathering his courage with it. "Do you really wish to investigate the source of this threat?" 

"I have to do something. Please understand, Christiaan, I can't...won't be a burden to you or anyone else. This is what I know, what I do, what I am." 

He sat up and laid a fine boned hand on the Hessian's cheek. " I know you worry about me, and you have no idea how much I need you to love me, want me, but I have to be worth something in my own eyes. I have to find peace with my own conscience each night. I have to be a man. Can you understand." 

"I do understand, mien Ichabod. I am afraid. This is all new to me, I have never loved nor been loved before." 

"Nor have I, Christiaan. We will have to learn together." 

He caught the mercenary's face and pulled him down into a fierce kiss. 

 

Katrina dismounted in the clearing in front of the Archer cottage ruins. She clutched the cloth wrapped bundle she held like a lifeline. Her legs were trembling and her stomach was tied in knots. The half moon lit the clearing well enough. Licking her lips nervously, she knelt in front of the young tree and opened her bundle. 

She sketched a set of runes in the dirt while chanting softly under her breath. With exaggerated care, she drew a slender silver dagger and ritualistically drew it across her palm. Droplets of dark blood spattered onto the sigils. She felt the shift in power. Making her voice strong and far more confident than she felt, she commanded Ichabod's spirit to come to her. 

Ichabod's living spirit, sleeping soundly in its mortal body, did not hear her, but someone else did. The ground trembled beneath her and the fireplace glowed an unholy red-orange. Then a huge black stallion was bursting forth from the hearth. 

She caught her breath in fear but stood her ground. The Hessian stared at her as if taking her measure. She swallowed noisily then addressed the specter as if she had meant to call him. "I needed to speak with Ichabod's spirit." 

The Hessian grinned, a curling of his lips that was far more frightening than his roar. Katrina paled but refused to look away. 

"I wanted to tell him that I was wrong and ask for his help." When the Hessian did not react she went on. "I need his help. Something is killing people in the Hollow and I don't think it's you this time." 

The Horseman reined Daredevil closer peering down at her. She held her head high trying to to get across to him the truth in her words. Tears welled up again in her eyes. She knew that he would see the shimmer, but she did not let them fall. 

He nodded after an interminable time and dismounted. " Tell me." 

After she was able to recover from hearing the ghost speak so plainly, she told him all that had happened. When she finished, she waited breathlessly for his response. 

"Come to me tonight, in the last hour of darkness before dawn.." He mounted and rode back toward the hearth. Before he disappeared he called back over his shoulder, "No magic, just come and wait. Nothing moves in these woods without my knowledge." 

She nodded mutely. She felt the stirring of hope. Something out there was toying with her and Sleepy Hollow, but surely it could not stand up to the Horseman. If it was stronger than him, she paled at the thought...then they were all dead. 

 

The Hessian studied the pale boy sleeping in his bed. He had lied to the witch. He could not see everything the forest as he once had. It was as if a mist had closed down over the heart of the Western Woods, not always, but when the killing occurred. Something was blocking his vision. He could still see the things near him, but the farther he looked the more the mist swirled. He could see a glimpse now and then, but he knew for certain that something was hiding there, something that knew him and his beloved, something violent and malevolent, a monster not so different from himself. 

Experience had taught him the feel of a trap waiting to spring. He knew that he was a target, as was Ichabod, and the girl. He also knew the only one with just cause to hate them all was missing a hand thanks to him. He had carried the Witch to Hell himself. He had kissed her just to make the lovely boy jealous and frighten her, then he had shut the portal behind her catching her hand for no better reason than to frighten the trio of heroes behind him. She had struggled and cursed and sworn revenge on them all. He had ignored her. 

She could not touch him or Ichabod as long as they remained in his refuge between life and death. He could remain here, force Ichabod to stay. He would be safe then, but he knew with the same certainty that it would kill the boy. Perhaps, he would even come to hate him for trapping him here in this eternal non-existence. He had to know what power she did hold before he allowed Ichabod to begin his investigation. 

With a thought, Daredevil was at his side. He mounted and leaped up into the outside world without waking the sleeping mortal. Daredevil's hooves thundered over the forest floor sending small animals scurrying for their lives. The mist swirled and ebbed around them spreading through the trees watching and listening. 

He reined the ghost stallion in when he reached the old Indian trail. He dismounted and freed his sword and axe from the saddle. He moved silently, purposefully down the trail to the tree that had been his home and his prison for so long. It was a stranger to him. A cold wind alive with hatred and malevolence brushed past him from the Tree. 

He turned following its path and she was there. The Black Witch of Sleepy Hollow. He took two steps toward and found himself immobilized. He roared in fury and tried to struggle against the force that held him, but it was impossible. 

"What's wrong? Is the big, bad warrior stuck? Hmm?" 

He snarled but did not speak. 

"Oh, don't be such a baby. Did you think your skull was all I commanded? That it was the only thing that could control you?" She laughed maniacally. "I'm smarter than that." 

"I kept a little memento from the first time we met. Do you remember? I guess not, you were a bit occupied at the time." 

She pulled a stick of wood from her dress pocket, a twig of kindling, broken in the middle and tied together. "Yes, I see you do remember. This was what killed you, not your sword, not those minutemen, this stick and these two hands...Oops! Did I forget, I only have one hand now...How silly of me." 

She held the stump of her other hand up and looked at it with a mildly annoyed expression. "I've tried to get another hand, but they just don't seem to take...Oh well! If at first you don't succeed and all that rubbish." 

She paced up to the Horseman and grinned at him revealing long fangs where her canines had once been. "You belong to me. You have always belonged to me. Look at the stick a little closer and see what other little token I have. A little lock of hair snipped from a sick young man while he lay sick sleeping off your sword wound." 

The Hessian looked at the hair wound around the stick and felt his heart sink. It was Ichabod's hair. 

"Your little lover is going to pay and you are going to be my instrument of revenge as you were always meant to be. He'll beg you to help him, beg you to stop hurting him, and when I'm satisfied, if you are very good, maybe I'll let you kill him as he curses your name to Hell." 

"You can not reach him." The Horseman forced the words past clenched jaws, any mortal would have cowered at the hate and rage in his voice. 

The Witch laughed. "I won't have to will I? When he sees you're missing, I think he'll come to me. Don't you?" 

 

Ichabod cursed and forced himself to stop pacing. Christiaan had been gone far too long. He had a horrible feeling that something terrible had happened. Making up his mind, he pulled on his coat and grabbed his bag. It took him a while to gather the courage to step into the flames of the fireplace. Finally he took a deep breath and jumped into the flames. He tried to focus on the clearing above them. He had no idea what he would do if he fell into that void of fire and ice without Daredevil there to catch him. There was a gut wrenching moment in which the whole universe seemed to twist and churn madly, then he was falling out of the fireplace rolling in the dead grass and drifted leaves. 

He got up as soon as everything quit spinning and brushed himself off. 

"Ichabod?" 

He jumped and spun around gasping for breath to meet Katrina's startled gaze. 

"Uh...well yes, I am the g-ghost of Ichabod Crane." 

"I was waiting for the Horseman. He said he would decide whether or not to help me and told me to meet him here. Did he send you instead." 

"He was going to meet you here? Now?" 

"Yes, he said so. Didn't he t..." 

Katrina's words were interrupted by thundering hoof beats headed toward them. 

Ichabod turned towards the woods and saw Daredevil, riderless, racing toward them, head down and eyes blazing red. The demon horse stopped in front of him rearing and screaming. Without thinking about it, Ichabod stepped up to the animal and grabbed his halter pulling his head down to eye level. 

"Where is he? Is he in danger?" 

He could see fear and anger in the creature's gaze. Then Daredevil bowed gracefully, sweeping his head back toward the saddle. Ichabod mounted and caught the reins as he lurched to his feet. He looked back at Katrina and saw that she too had mounted her mare. He was suddenly grateful for her presence. 

"Take me to him, Daredevil, now!" 

The stallion leaped away into the night with Ichabod clinging to his saddle with a strength borne of desperation. 

Katrina followed as best as she could. She was no match for Daredevil. She marveled at how well Ichabod sat him, leaning low over the saddle fearlessly. She supposed that as a ghost he had little to fear from falling off a horse. Still, he seemed awfully solid for a spirit. He had rolled out of the old hearth, too, instead of making some grand entrance like the Horseman did. 

She shook her head. Ichabod was dead. She had seen his corpse. She had seen him come from the empty hearth and talk to the demon horse. No mortal could do those things. Still, she kept seeing a twirling picture of a cardinal and a cage becoming one in the spinning. What had Ichabod said about optics...that it was truth, but truth was not always what it seemed. She vowed to keep an eye on him and look for any trace that she and the others had been tricked somehow. 

 

The nightmare ride through the forest ended as Ichabod had known it must, at the tree of the dead. The gaping mouth yawned open before him. The tree looked different somehow, smaller, more fragile. It was dying he realized without the Hessian's spirit it was just a tree. Daredevil stopped in front of the tree pawing the ground restlessly. Ichabod slid rather gracelessly from the animal's back and nearly fell before he could get his legs used to solid ground again. As he regained his balance he looked around the clearing for any trace of anything out of the ordinary, as if anything could be considered ordinary in this haunted place. 

Everything was quiet and still, too still. 

He turned and stepped toward Katrina as she dismounted. He saw her open her mouth to shout something, heard Daredevil scream a warning behind him, but it was too late. The world seemed to slow as he turned and saw his lover on his knees, head bowed, before the pale, twisted creature that had been Lady Van Tassel. Then the ground opened at his feet and he was falling. The ground broke his fall at last and none too gently. There was a sharp flash of light and pain, then only darkness. 

Katrina saw Ichabod disappear into the ground and screamed. She started to back away but her Stepmother cried out something to the Hessian and he surged to his feet. She ran blindly towards the woods, but it was hopeless. He caught her before she could escape the clearing. She struggled for all she was worth, but the Hessian was far stronger than she. She made herself be still, willed herself to show no fear. She had to be ready in case an opportunity to escape opened before her. Ichabod had always said that emotion was any detective's enemy, that it clouded their senses and befouled their judgement. 

As if he had read her mind, the Hessian leaned over and whispered in her ear. "No matter what happens, get Ichabod out of here when the chance comes." She shivered in his arms but nodded assent. Only then did he turn and physically carry her back to the demon thing that seemed to be controlling him without benefit of the skull. 

"Tie her up, my unwilling slave, tie her up tight. If she escapes, it will be your little boy who pays." 

Katrina dared to look up into the Horseman's face as he wound a length of rope around her and one of the Tree's twisted roots. It was full of anger and fury, but there was also something there that shook her to her core, worry and fear. She knew it was not fear for himself, he was afraid for Ichabod. He was not sure he could stop the witch and that terrified Katrina more than anything. She moaned softly. To her amazement, the Horseman squeezed her hands reassuringly as he tied them behind her back. She felt something cold pressed into the palm of one hand, a knife. Then the Hessian retreated. 

"Get him out of there, now, and don't try anything or he'll regret it." 

The Hessian growled low in his throat, but obeyed climbing down into the shallow pit and lifting Ichabod gently out before climbing up himself. The boy was already beginning to come around. 

Grinning wickedly, the Witch issued her orders and laughed madly as the Hessian tried vainly to resist them. His own body betrayed him, moving against his will. He hauled Ichabod to his feet and twisted his arms behind his back, cruelly. Ichabod cried out as the sharp pain brought him fully to his senses. 

Ichabod looked back over his shoulder then immediately stopped struggling. Without asking any questions, he looked around taking in the clearing and everyone present. 

The Hessian felt pride and love swell in his heart. He had expected to see anger, hate, at the very least, fear in Ichabod's eyes. Instead, he had seen nothing but love and understanding, and determination. He marshaled every unholy power at his command and fought the witch's control over him for Ichabod, for love. 

Heedless of the battle raging within the other ghost, the Lady Van Tassel advanced on the young man. "Now, Ichabod Crane you are going to pay for ruining my plans, for taking away what was rightfully mine. You are going to beg me to let you die, but I will not. And best of all, it will be your lover's hand that brings you pain." 

"First things first, I want his hand." 

Trembling with his efforts to resist, the Horseman pushed Ichabod face first against the tree stretching his arm above his head. Gripping the human's wrist hard enough to bruise the flesh, he flattened the palm against the wood of the tree. He drew his ax with the other hand. For a moment he hesitated, the ax edge was hot against Ichabod's flesh. 

"Ichabod," there was unbearable anguish in the Hessian's low whisper. 

"It's alright Christiaan. I love you. I know this isn't you." 

The ax swung back ready to fall. 

"Do it, now!" 

Ichabod's trust and the witch's hateful voice gave the Hessian just enough strength to turn and fling the ax away from Ichabod. It embedded itself in one of the Tree's ancient roots no more than an inch or two from Katrina's head. 

Katrina gasped as the weapon impacted so close to her and with an impressive effort sawed through the last few strands of rope freeing herself. She grabbed the ax, wrenching it from the tree, and nearly dropped it. It was warm and seemed to breath in her hand like a living thing. Swallowing her revulsion she circled around looking for an opportunity to hit her Stepmother while her attention was riveted on Ichabod and the Horseman. 

The Witch screamed in fury at the Hessian's defiance and pulled the stick of kindling out again. "I told you he would pay!" 

Agonizing pain washed over Ichabod. He fell to his knees gasping for air. He saw Christiaan draw his sword and step toward the witch only to be stopped dead in his tracks. Just when the pain grew unbearable it ended as Katrina crept up behind the witch and used the Hessian's ax, not on her Stepmother, but on the stick she held. The ax sliced through the wood at the point where it was bound together. The blade's hellfire burned the hair to ash and scorched the stick. 

The Witch dropped it and turned toward Katrina. As she did, the Hessian felt her power ebb just enough. He leaped forward, sword at ready. 

The Witch caught Katrina with her one good hand lifting her with inhuman strength. Katrina struggled wildly and broke free falling at her feet. She saw the dead woman's malicious grin turn into a look of surprise as the sharp, black point of a sword protruded from her chest in the spot where her heart might have once been. 

She howled in anger then spat, "You can't kill me, I'm already dead." She laughed wildly. 

The laughter died as thunder crashed overhead and the wind began to howl. A mist rose from the ground swirling around the clearing. The yawning maw of the Tree of the Dead glowed with the light of Hell's own flames. 

"Take him, White Witch, get out of here now." 

Katrina struggled to obey, running to Ichabod's side. She caught his arm and pulled noting as she did so that he was warm, alive. She dragged him to his feet and away from the two demons. 

"No! Christiaan! I can't leave without him!" he tried to pull away from her, but Daredevil was there blocking his path. 

"Get on Ichabod. We have to get out of here. You have to trust in him. He knows what he's doing." She half pushed him up onto the Ghost Horse then swung up behind him. He turned toward his lover crying out. 

Without turning from the witch, Christiaan spoke firmly. "Go Ichabod, my love." 

Ichabod would have said more, struggled harder, but at that moment, a great wave of flame shot from the bowels of the Tree and surged out enveloping both ghosts, and Daredevil thundered from the clearing with Katrina's little mare trying her best to keep pace. The horse did not slow until they reached the ruins of the Archer cottage. Ichabod slid from his back and collapsed onto the ground burying his head in his hands. Without pause, the beast turned and flew in the direction it had come from, back to his master's side. 

 

Katrina sat beside Ichabod and waited quietly. When the storm broke, she forced him to move into the shelter of the old fireplace. She contemplated the young sapling in the center of the ruins. It had doubled in size since she first saw it. At this rate it would rival the old tree in a year or two. She picked up a twig and began to draw in the ashes. Runes of protection for the young tree, for the lovers that would sleep peacefully within its embrace, for the whole village of Sleepy Hollow. She looked up at Ichabod then, he was staring back toward the Indian Trail watching, waiting. It was suddenly clear to her. Sleepy Hollow had always been a haunted place. Magic had always been strong in this valley, her mother had been a witch and hers before her. There had always been darkness here as well. Yet there had always been peace. There had always been something more powerful out there, a dark protector in the Western Woods. 

Sleepy Hollow needed the Horseman, he was their strength, their unholy vengeance. It needed her as well. Her mother had been the heart of the village while she lived, always ready to lend a hand in illness, to offer sympathy and a healing word to those bereaved. Her mother had raised her to take her place, taught her everything she knew and trusted her to fulfill her duty. She had been acting like a child and now it was time for her to grow up. 

Ichabod saw Katrina sit up straight and square her jaw. She closed her eyes and beginning to chant softly. Her hand moved of its own accord drawing intricate sigils in the ashes. He felt a brief stab of panic until he recognized the diagram she had drawn. It was the same one he had seen under his bed and on the floor of the church. It was a spell for the protection of a loved one. She had drawn it around the young tree in the dying soil. She was trying to help his love, swaying with the effort. How could he not do the same. 

Quietly he rose and headed back toward the forest. He caught her mare just a short ways down the path tangled in a briar bush. He urged her to run back toward the clearing, back toward his lover. When he reached the clearing, he saw chaos. The clearing was awash with flames, the Tree of the Dead was on fire. Things seemed to move and writhe just beneath the flames. 

The Hessian stood in the middle of the madness advancing toward the Witch. Clawed hands reached up from the flames trying to stop him. He sliced them away whenever they impeded his progress with a long sweep of his sword or ax. The witch backed away warily. As she neared the mouth of the tree, the roots reached for her like giant serpents. One curled around her good arm pulling her back toward its mouth. She screamed and pulled away. 

With a roar the Horseman dived forward tackling the witch. She flew backwards into the arms of the burning tree. hundreds of groping tentacles and clawed hands grasped at her, pulling her in. She struggled wildly, but they had her. As she was pulled in she began to burn. Her scream became a constant wail even after Ichabod saw her skull crumble to ash. 

There was an incredible wind then, one that seemed to come from the dying Tree itself. The flames were sucked back into itself in long ropy strands. Ichabod cried out a warning as he saw the wind catch Christiaan, then a wildly waving root caught the Hessian's booted foot pulling his legs out from under him. 

"No!" Ichabod screamed and lunged forward with the wind. He caught the Hessian's arm slowing his slide toward the flaming gateway to Hell, and then Daredevil was there at his side. He held onto the Horse's stirrup as the animal struggled against the wind. The Hessian freed his sword and struck at the root holding him. For a moment Ichabod thought that he was going to be ripped in half, but he held on for dear life. Then the root was hacked through and Daredevil dragged them both from the clearing. 

The wind stopped as they reached the edge of the woods. Ichabod dropped the leg iron and grabbed his lover. Christiaan crushed the mortal against his chest. They turned as one to watch as the Tree of the Dead was consumed from within by the leaping flames. Strange, demonic shapes moved within the flames until the whole thing collapsed in a shower of sparks and embers that were quickly doused by the rain. 

Katrina looked up from her spell at the sound of hoof beats. She staggered to her feet and stepped from the shelter of the fireplace into the raging storm. she sobbed with relief as the riders came into site. The Hessian slid from Daredevil's back and helped Ichabod down. Without thinking, she flung herself at the two. The Hessian caught her and pulled her against one broad shoulder, Ichabod wrapped an arm around her. For a moment, they just stood like that, then Katrina stepped back, smiling and blinking back tears. 

Haltingly, she told them what she had figured out and showed them the runes. Taking a deep breath she looked Ichabod in the eyes. "I know you're not a ghost, Ichabod and I'm glad. I am so sorry for hurting you, both of you. Sleepy Hollow needs someone to watch over it. Now that my parents are gone that is my duty. It also needs its protector. I will not allow anyone else to disturb your resting place. I promise." 

She turned at the sound of weary hoof beats and saw her mare trudging up the trail towards them. Katrina collected her reins and settled into the saddle. "Goodbye, Ichabod, Goodbye Horseman." Feeling at peace for the first time in a long time, she felt that it was time she put aside the pain of the past and concentrate on her people and on a certain young man who had been right all along. 

 

Ichabod turned and caught his lover's face in both hands and kissed him firmly. "Take me home, Christiaan." 

The Hessian chuckled as he pulled the boy close and lifted him easily into his arms. Ichabod smiled up into his eyes as he carried him through the gate into their home. The smile turned to a mischievous grin as Christiaan dropped him onto their bed and began undressing him. Stripping off his own clothes, the Horseman straddled the smaller man and pressed him back down into the soft furs. He let his hands wander over the smooth pale flesh beneath him. 

"You are so beautiful. Have I told you that today?" 

"Christiaan...aah..." Ichabod's voice trailed off into soft moans as the Hessian's lips moved from his forehead over his nose to claim his lips. His mouth moved on over Ichabod''s protest to nuzzle his long graceful neck. 

Ichabod buried his hands in the wild mane of dark hair and arched his body upwards to meet his lover. He could feel him hard and heavy lying along his belly. He wrapped his long fingers around that length and stroked gently. He was rewarded with a low growl against his chest. He laughed and quickened his efforts until his Ghost Warrior was squirming and moaning over him. He caught his breath as Christiaan sat up suddenly pulling Ichabod with him. 

The Hessian lifted his lover onto his lap and wrapped Ichabod's legs around his waist. He held him tightly as he joined their bodies. Ichabod's soft cries and the tight heat of his body were closer to Heaven than the Hessian had ever dreamed he might come. He whispered soft endearments in German and English as he made love to his angel. His lover's voice sent shivers racing along Ichabod's spine. He could not hold it any longer. He came, crying out in his pleasure and felt Christiaan follow him. 

They collapsed together, Ichabod still wrapped around him. "I love you, my little one." 

"I love you, Christiaan." 

Sated and happy, Ichabod fell into a deep and peaceful sleep in the arms of his phantom lover.


End file.
